You Were Always Waiting
by themostrandomfandom
Summary: "It's taken them two years to get to this point, but really even longer than that. Maybe five years or ten years or their whole lives, really." Brittana expecting their first child together. Future fic. Mouseverse. One-shot.


It only takes about two seconds after Santana calls her name for Brittany to answer and it only takes about thirty seconds after that for Brittany to come half-jogging, half-tripping into the bathroom, sleepy, worried, and disoriented, one of the scarlet sheets from the bed still wrapped around her ankle. Brittany squints against the florescent light, blinded as she moves from dark to bright. She seems surprised to find Santana standing—so surprised, in fact, that she doesn't actually realize what Santana is doing, at first.

"Whatsa matter?" Brittany says, her voice still groggy but her eyes frantic. "Are you sick? Do you need a doctor?"

"Britt," Santana says firmly. Her voice jolts Brittany out of her panic mode; for the first time since she appeared in the doorway, Brittany really looks at Santana. For a second, her face blanks, then recognition blooms over her features. Suddenly, Brittany seems so excited that it wouldn't surprise Santana if Brittany never wanted to sleep again.

"You—," Brittany splutters, stepping out of the bed sheet and into the bathroom. She curls around Santana from behind, glancing between the mirror-Santana and the real-Santana, as if she can't believe that either one of them exist.

Santana can't help it: she laughs, even as tears start to prick at her eyes. "I popped!" she says, finishing Brittany's thought.

Both of them look down at the new little pooch to her stomach, hanging between the band of her pajama bottoms, which Santana has pushed down by her hips, and the bottom of her night shirt, which Santana has rolled near her breasts. She already holds the new, warm round in her hands between spread fingers. Brittany hesitates for a second. She shoots Santana a look in the mirror.

_May I?_

Santana only rolls her eyes a little bit as she grabs Brittany's hands and moves them to join hers. At first, Brittany just presses her palms and fingers lightly over Santana's hands, but then she finds her own stretch of skin to touch. The bump is still small but noticeable in a way that makes Santana look and feel pregnant like she hasn't quite done before.

The second Brittany touches her skin, it makes Santana shiver. It's always been the best feeling in the world to have Brittany touch her skin, Santana thinks, but this time it feels special, sacred even, like a current runs between them and their—

"The doctor said that usually happens at sixteen weeks," Brittany says and it surprises Santana to hear the tears in Brittany's voice, even though Santana is crying, too.

"Yup—overnight."

"Right on time!"

Brittany shifts around, moving between Santana and the mirror, crouching so she's level with Santana's belly. For a second, Santana feels the tiniest bit self-conscious because her stomach has been flat her whole life until now, but then she sees the way Brittany worships at the new shape of her body, awed; it's like she's the first person in history who ever discovered that the world is round. Her thumbs smooth over the sudden curve. Before Santana can say anything, Brittany starts pressing butterfly kisses to her belly, teary and breathing in little gasps.

Santana knows exactly why she's crying.

It's taken them two years to get to this point, but really even longer than that.

(Maybe five years or ten years or their whole lives, really.)

This moment is exactly the kind of thing a fifteen year old Santana convinced herself she didn't want because she actually wanted it too much, but thought she couldn't ever have it.

It's the kind of hope a twenty-three year old Santana tucked away in a box in her heart and told herself was for other couples, but not for her and Britt.

It's the kind of possibility that flustered Santana so much that she took two weeks to formulate a long and ultimately stuttering speech so that she could explain to Brittany about how this was something that she wanted and how it could be something they could have together, if Brittany wanted it, too, once Santana knew that it was actually an option.

(_"I don't want to pressure you. I just thought… maybe…"_)

(_A smirk. "So you want to be my baby momma? Why didn't you just say that?"_)

But after months of treatments, disappointments, and a new kind of fear that Santana didn't even know existed before this became their everything, now they actually have it.

Brittany's kisses don't feel like anything Santana has ever felt before. They're not actually for Santana; they're for the baby—their baby, the one that finally weighs enough to alter his or her surroundings, to become this little pout that Santana can't suck in just by breathing.

The kisses make this all real in a way that the morning sickness and the weird spacey "pregnancy brain" and the wellness checkups haven't already. Brittany scrabbles up from the floor and plants sloppy kisses around Santana's mouth, then finally on her lips.

She links her hands at the small of Santana's back and pulls her into a hug; they both revel at the feel of the new curve between them. "You're the most beautiful thing in the world and we're gonna have a baby and my hands are shaking and I don't know why and we're gonna be late to work and I don't care and can we take a picture or something once we stop crying because I really want to remember this, even though I'm pretty sure I won't ever forget anyway?" Brittany rambles in that way she only does when she's really happy and really nervous, all at the same time.

"Yeah, sweetheart," Santana says to all of it.

They both just smile, right in each other's faces.

After a moment, Santana laughs. "God, we're a mess!" she says. "Is it normal to be so weird about this stuff?"

"Yep, perfectly normal," Brittany assures her, as though she knows any better than Santana does what normal behavior is for first-time parents. Her eyes glint against the bathroom lights as she sways Santana on the spot, dancing her just so that she can feel Santana's body at new angles. "Plus," Brittany singsongs, drawing out the vowel, "you have an excuse: pregnant ladies are supposed to cry at the drop of a hat."

"What about you, then?" Santana teases.

"You know how I feel about hats, San. Of course I'll cry about that, too," Brittany deadpans and Santana laughs, not quite sure what to do with all this happiness.

They kiss again and Brittany turns them so that they face the mirror like before, this time from the side, so that they can both look at their reflection.

"Thank you," Brittany whispers against Santana's hair, and Santana knows what she means, even though Brittany doesn't say for what.

"Brittany?" Santana says. "We're gonna be moms."

"Mhm," Brittany says.

It feels like another new start for them; they stare at their reflections, breathless and waiting.


End file.
